He was being over-dramatic. Tebbitt was wearing shorts. She decided on the blue dress and set it on the chair. “This will go well with your colouring and will give you a nice waistline once it is belted.”

Susan studied Tebbitt's silhouette as he struggled with the accoutrements of a lady's dressing and tapped an impatient, manicured fingertip to her lips. “That brassiere does not fit you well. You need more tissue.”

She handed him the box and he began stuffing it in.

“It itches and how can you breathe?”

Susan chose to not mention that she thought a corset and girdle would be just the thing to turn Tebbitt’s rectangular man-shape into something more feminine. Though, they really needed to pad his hips. She was at her leisure to study them – his hips – and the problem they posed as he was bent over trying to put on silk stockings.

“You do have very nice legs, Tebbitt. But if you rip my stockings, I shall make you replace them, and trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

“Next time, we do the bag drop at a men’s club.”ooOOooFor 'E' How fun! I vote for number 9: forced to share a bed, either Peter and Morgan or Edmund and Sir Lezi. Because of the wonderful awkwardness.We have both!

Peter and Morgan. In a bed and get your minds out of the gutter!

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Morgan?"

“No, sir. I'm fine. We'll be home tomorrow.”

Peter heard a sniffle.

It had been a simple trip north for Morgan to assess the feasibility of Marsh-wiggle exports (she had thought there might be a market for their liquor and tobacco among those who preferred truly toxic vices). Peter had wanted to see to the northern border and, with Lucy having taken Aidan to visit their island protectorates, Edmund had remained at Cair Paravel. Up and there had been fine. It had all gone to Tash's Hell on the return. The rain had been relentless and they had lost nearly all of their gear when the pack on one of the horses had snapped as they had forded the Shribble. The rain had finally stopped and so they had sheltered for the night in the Owlwood. They were all cold, wet, and hungry, and even Dwarf-made fire didn't warm much.

Against his back, he felt Morgan shiver again.

With his sisters, he would put an arm about her and they could share the single, dry blanket and bedroll together. But this was Morgan who was, as always, keeping her distance from him.

“Fooh? Beehn?” Peter called.

“Yes, High King?” Fooh asked. Peter heard a yawn – that would be Beehn.

"Please join us. It is cold. We will all be warmer with you both here.”

The Cheetahs padded over in the dark, eyes glowing, claws softly catching on the leaf litter of the wooded floor. Fooh settled next to him and Beehn curled up with a contented purr next to Morgan on the other side. Morgan threw her arm over the Cheetah.

"Thank you, Beehn." He wondered how Morgan had been able to tell the difference in the dark. In all but temperament, the Cheetah brothers were nearly identical.

"Is that better?" Peter asked.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

The Cheetah's purrs softened to a contented rumble and Peter felt Fooh's tail against his legs.

"Morgan?"

"Sir?"

"Could you please call me 'Peter?' Especially after so long? You are my brother's wife, my own family. The sir makes me uncomfortable."

Behind him, he could sense her fingers moving restlessly. Morgan would tease loose thread right out of cloth. Morgan's seams always had to be firmly sewn down.

When she didn't answer, he tried again. "Morgan, you calling me sir..."

"If you want me to answer, you have to stop talking... sir."

Morgan had just interrupted him!? Peter was not accustomed to this. In fact the only person who routinely did so was Morgan. And Susan, occasionally, usually when his sister was berating him for some obstinacy that was not in accord with how she would manage the world. Of course, Edmund as well, come to think on it. Lucy wouldn't interrupt -- she would laugh at him.

"Very well, Morgan. I shall await your answer." And if they waited long enough, he would fall asleep.

"It is a lot things," she finally said in halting words.

Another long pause.

"I'm not comfortable around you at all. I don't know if I ever will be."

Having asked, and knowing Morgan's forthright manner, Peter could not very well complain of hurt because his brother's wife and bondmate had responded truthfully.

"I am sorry, Morgan. Is there anything I might..."

"The only thing that would help would be for you to be other than you are. That won't happen."

Blunt and harsh. "But why, Morgan? Can you tell me?"

There was another, even longer, pause.

"Morgan?"

"Don't interrupt me!"

She had not been speaking, so what was he interrupting?

"It's because of who you are," she replied eventually. "You never say the wrong thing, do you? Never at a loss for words? You've never stood in front of someone with your mouth hanging open and words dancing around at your feet mocking you and you have to go running after them, like a Puppy chasing her own tail?"

"No,"' Peter admitted. With an internal wince, he had to admit her words were flowing without inhibition now.

"When you walk in a room, the torches on the wall burn brighter. Everyone turns to you, every eye turns to you, everyone tries to be with you. You are so ... so.... " She stammered, stumbled, and found her footing. "You are so big. You embrace everything and everyone."

"Morgan, really you make too much of..."

"You love it all." Into his floundering defense, Morgan continued. "And I don't. You wade into the throng and I run."

"Morgan..."

"Every time I see you, sir, it reminds me of my own failings."

He heard her sniff again and sensed her stroke Beehn, whose purr intensified.

She was right, for there was nothing to do about it. They respected one another, he liked Morgan very well, but they would never be close, as Peter was to Aidan. And this was, Peter reflected, perhaps not wholly ill.

"Morgan, whatever of your failings you perceive, which you judge far more harshly than anyone, know that for me, I count as most blessed the day my brother met you. And so you shall always have my deepest thanks."

Peter rolled away and snuggled closer to Fooh who contentedly put a paw over his arm and lay his tail over Peter's waist.

He was nearly asleep when Morgan's voice stirred him awake. "You're welcome. Peter."ooOOooIt seemed like a good idea at the time

Edmund slowly, painfully awoke. He was assailed by four things, each more dread than the last. The foul taste of too much Lightning. The still pounding rhythms in his head of the Innkeeper's tin drum band. The feel of rough straw and ticking poking at his bare skin and in too-intimate of places.

And most ominous of all, the utterly unique smell of musky goat assailing his nostrils.

No. No. No.

He opened an eye. Stifled a scream of horror.

By Zardeenah's three tits...

He'd slept with Leszi.

AgainooOOooFor Syrena Jalur can't keep warm anymoreErrr, this is probably not what you were expecting, Syrena.

Jalur and the Cub

As they walked deeper into the Wood, Edmund put his hand on Jalur’s shoulder and could feel the bone there, pointy and hard, and his fur was so thin and patchy.

“Are you still cold?” he asked the Tiger. The Physician had said it was because Jalur was so old that his body couldn’t keep him warm anymore.

“Yes,” Jalur said. He talked very softly now but Edmund could still hear him. Mother always said that he had the hearing of a Hound.

“You won’t be cold much longer, will you?” Edmund didn’t want Jalur to be cold anymore.

“No.”

Edmund looked over his shoulder behind him. He could just see Mother, still standing at the entrance to the Wood, like she said she would. She was blowing her nose in a big handkerchief. Rafiqa was leaning into Mother the way that Hounds did when trying to comfort someone.

He turned back around. “I wish she’d come, too.”

“We said farewell, Edmund.” Jalur’s breath came out heavy and raspy, like branches on rocks.

“It’s because of Aslan, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

How Mother felt about Aslan, how angry she was at the Great Lion, wasn’t something Edmund could really understand. He’d talked to everyone about it, Uncle Aidan, and Lord Peridan, and Grandfather, and Aunt Maeve and Uncle Pierce, and his cousins, and old Mr. Hoberry and old Mr. Tumnus and Mrs. Furner, Master Roblang, and Eirene. He’d talked to Eirene the Centauress a lot because she’d really and truly been there the first time that Mother met Aslan in the Meadowlawn. Eirene knew all the songs and stories that were made about that day, about Morgan the Baker of Narnia.

How could anyone be angry at Aslan? How could Mother stay so angry for so long? Didn’t Aslan get angry back? That really worried him. He didn’t want Aslan angry at Mother because he didn’t want Aslan to take her away.

He’d once asked Eirene if Aslan had taken Father away because Mother didn’t love Aslan enough and Eirene had told him no, that wasn’t it at all. He’d been really glad to hear that. Eirene said that Mother loved everything Aslan had made – she loved Narnia and everyone in it so well and so hard, and had done so much for them, of course Aslan loved her.

The path they were walking on got wider and smoother, instead of narrower and darker, the way it usually did.

Edmund knew what that meant and everything in him felt tingly like during the first snow or that plunge into the ocean on a hot day.

Jalur lifted his head up and breathed in through his nose, even though he couldn’t smell much anymore.

And then Aslan was there.

Edmund managed a bow like Lord Peridan had taught him but he was too excited to do it properly and bounced up again. “Aslan!” He ran to the Lion and threw his arms around him. “You’re bigger again!”

“It is because you are bigger, Edmund.”

“How are you? How is Father? You have come for Jalur, haven’t you? He’s…”

Aslan rumbled and it might have been a growl or a purr but Edmund swallowed the rest of his questions, remembered his manners, and stepped away. “Thank you for coming, sir.”

Edmund got a kiss. “This is from me,” Aslan said. He kissed him again, all whiskers and good, sweet breath of the Lion. “And this is from your father.” And a third time. “And this is for your mother.”

He rubbed his forehead. That was a lot of kisses. “Thank you, Aslan. Will you take Jalur now? He’s always cold and he really wants to be with you now.” Edmund sniffed a little. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t blub. He was happy for Jalur. “Jalur wants to be with you even more than with me, and that’s a lot.”

“Jalur?” Aslan said. “Are you ready?”

The Tiger bowed his head. “My lord. If it pleases you.”

“It does, my great-hearted son.” Aslan stepped forward. Jalur was big. He’d been the biggest Cat in Narnia but Aslan was just that much bigger. Aslan breathed on Jalur. “Follow me.”

Edmund tried to keep his eyes open and watch. He saw Aslan turn and walk away and Jalur followed him, not all stiff and tired but springy and his head was up, not down, and his tail was waving again. Edmund didn’t think he blinked but then, suddenly, they were gone.

The air and light were all normal again, good Narnian air and light and so that meant magical, but not the way it was all really, really magical and golden and wonderful smelling when Aslan was near. He waved good-bye to Aslan and Jalur in the direction he thought they had gone, which he supposed was the path to Aslan’s Country.

He was going to run straight back to Mother and give her Aslan’s kisses but two Red Squirrels were arguing – Tiggy was accusing Pester of stealing her hoard and the fur was really flying. So Edmund gave Branwen a Shiny from his pocket and told her to fly over and tell Mother that he would be along just as soon as he figured out who was stealing from whom and what he should do about it.

Comments

Oh, I don't know what I love more- the one with Peter and Morgan (explains so much, really), Edmund the son and Jalur (because I love Jalur and also find the idea of their line living on interesting), or the first one simply for the 3 that are in it.

Thanks so much! I killed Jalur. Geez. I KILLED JALUR. And I'll work on your AU High School in a bit. Having just killed Jalur, I need to spend some time on the next chapter of H&M and see if I can finish up the Part 3 arc. Thanks so much!

OMG this was all just what I needed right now- I checked your LJ not even really expecting that you would have written more fic yet, but... YAY! Tebbit, I assume, did not heed Edmund's warning :-)

The Peter and Morgan scene really nailed it for me- everything about the two of them and how difficult it is for her and how much he really doesn't mean that but really does like her (even if she exasperates him). And of *course* Morgan can tell Fooh from Beehn. And compares herself to a Puppy rather than a human child or dumb animal.

Also, Edmund! And Sir Leszi! Again!

And the future fic was beautiful, and so great to see a view of Edmund the Cub.

Thanks so much! I hope you are well!! I thought of adding more to the drunk fic but really, ending with splinters in places the sun doesn't shine (unless you are in Narnia) just seemed perfect. I thought of Edmund complaining about hair in the teeth but ... ahem... The Again is actually borrowed from, long time ago, the old Phantom Menace stories. There was a hilarious series where Darth Maul kept getting drunk and sleeping with Obi Wan Kenobi, who was either a Vegas show girl type character or the addict from Trainspotting. "He'd slept with Obi Wan Kenobi. Again."

The Peter and Morgan scene is so much because people were asking why is Morgan so uncomfortable around Peter -- why don't they connect better. And admittedly one reason is entirely authorial -- way back in 2009 I wrote specifically to not be, and never be, interested in Peter. At the time it was reaction to the love triangle fics. That strategic decision has since altered into a loyalty, which is an essential character trait of hers.

And the Cub. I realize I should have Jalur maybe call him Cub. And I thought about this whole scene where he has a very serious discussion with Mother about choosing his new Guard. Stopping now. Really.

THE CUB. I should have called him the Cub. Though maybe they had a discussion about it..."Jalur, I'm very big now.""Yes," the Tiger replied, deciding to not point out that the Cub was still riding ponies and needed a bolster at the supper table. "I think I'm too big to be called Cub. Could you call me by my real name, please? 'cept maybe...." The Cub looked down and poked the grass with a very dirty foot. "Maybe everyone calls me Cub because they don't want to say Father's name?"That, Jalur thought, was probably true. And certainly not fair. "I agree." Jalur had to muster himself. He'd not spoken the beloved name in so long. "Prince Edmund."The boy looked up, smiling the way his father had. "Prince? I'm not sure how I feel about that.""I will insist upon your proper titles, my Prince, even if you do not."

It’s not fair. You have me going from laughing to crying in too short a period of time.

Bark and splinters! And I love how Tebbitt just calls them the elder and younger, and thinks Edmund is scary.

Heh. I love how Peter doesn’t understand Morgan’s mind at all and doesn’t get that he’s interrupting her conversation with herself. And she’s allowed to interrupt him but he’s not allowed to interrupt her! Now I just want more stories of Edmund falling asleep with Leszi.

The Cub and Jalur…so sad but so beautiful. I love you ended it with him sorting out dispute between the Squirrels. Hints of the future king there. Also, hearing of a Hound and sight of a Crow as suggested in Deny the Child. Perfect!

I just added a little more about the Cub and Jalur up above. I KILLED JALUR. I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON.

You know, about that Edmund being scarier than hell. That's a line in an old piece of AW I wrote years ago with Tebbitt meeting Peter and Edmund for the first time. I jossed it with Rat and Sword. but digs around

“Smashing idea!” Edmund piped up from him behind, causing Peter to start.

“I hate it when you sneak upon me like that!” Peter complained.

“I am the only who can!” Edmund elbowed by him into Susan’s bedroom. He took in the picture of his sister with a glance. “So, no dinner and dancing and just taking Peridan straight to bed?”

“Tebbitt!” Susan repeated. “His name is Wing Commander Reginald Tebbitt! And yes, that is my intent.”

Edmund flopped down on Lucy’s bed with a disgusted sigh. “Lucky sod. How is it that I did not fully appreciate how much easier it is to find partners when one is a King?”

Truer words never spoken.

“Shouldn’t you have a courtship contract for him?” Peter asked, teasing his brother.

“Actually…”

Susan interrupted. “Don’t you dare, or any woman you do bring home will learn from me that you are deviant, diseased, and a homosexual.”

“Well, the deviant part is true enough,” Edmund replied, sitting up. “Seriously, Susan, what are you doing about preventative measures?”

“It is not as if you can ask a Hound,” Peter put in, referring to the Narnian method as reliable as anything yet discovered here.

Susan pulled her hair up into a simple tie. “Finally, an intelligent observation! I have it well in hand, of course.”

Peter had to bite back his own laughter as Edmund guffawed. Susan glared at them. “Don’t be crude, both of you.”

I'd read the others on the other thread, but as regards Jalur and the Cub: Starting my day off with a good sob :/

(The Peter/Morgan exchange is very revealing - of their characters! Mind out of the gutter! - and that Tebbitt thinks Edmund is scary is hilarious and I want to know why. The Edmund/Leszi thing explains a good deal of their mutual antagonism. Heh.)

My four year old wanders in right after I read about Jalur meeting Aslan: "Mommy, why are you crying?"

Those were awesome. The 'splinters' had me snickering, so did Edmund and Leszi -- brilliant. Susan and Tebbitt has some nice depth to it -- Susan actually reminds me a bit of Mara here, very much 'we are going to do this right and look awesome while doing it'. Peter and Morgan also had some nice layers to it -- we've seen before how uncomfortable Morgan is around Peter, and this snippet makes me sympathize with both of them; Peter just wants her to be comfortable but he can't, and Morgan looks at Peter and sees all the things she can't do. He's such a big brother in this scene, blessing the day she met Edmund. And I love her blunt honesty.

But the Jalur and Cub Edmund was heartbreaking in such a good way. Aslan's kisses to little Edmund ... the Cub's questioning and contemplation of his mother's relationship with Aslan ... and Jalur's walking away with his tail up, no longer cold. Sniff.

I may have cried some too, which is so bad. You had gotten me thinking about why Peter and Morgan are so awkward and so that is where this came from, and your prompt of course. I'd always wanted her to be uncomfortable around Peter and it not be due to UST in order to refute the love triangle stories. But then her interest in/loyalty to Edmund became something more.

I killed Jalur. I am a very bad person. I also added a little more up above to take away the sting.

OMG, laughing fits to crying, and all so beautiful. These made my day so much better. :) The snippet with Morgan and Peter was maybe my favorite - it explains so much about why Morgan and Peter are all so careful around one another, why they care for one another but can't quite get close. I also agree with runesnspoons - I want to know why Tebbitt finds Edmund so scary! :)

I wrote a little above about an earlier scene in which Tebbitt met Peter and Edmund for the first time and they made a point of being all threatening-like -- but not too threatening because they didn't want to incur Susan's wrath. The scary Edmund was left over from that.

A lot of people asked about why Peter and Morgan were so awkward after the last scene in the latest H&M update, so I used this opportunity to explain it.

Oh dear, Tebbitt would try to keep up with Peter. I can just imagine the disgusted look on Susan's face she meets up with the three of them and Tebbitt's too drunk to stand and Peter is smirking and Ed's trying not to laugh. It's quite wonderful.

I'd like to know more about what he senses in Edmund to make him so scary - I'd expect that one spy would recognize another, but Edmund having some inherent sense of danger about him is very intriguing.

I feel odd responding to this before Rth, but I've always had Thoughts about Edmund and Scariness, and so your comment intrigued me. It's interesting, because on the one hand, in my headcanon at least, Edmund is this incredibly compassionate, moral, forgiving person - as seems only right for being the Just king. But, on the other hand, there's the idea of Justice being blind, impartial, and more than a little ruthless. So he's also Scary, in the sense that he knows how to keep his fingers on everything going on in Narnia and out of it, and use that information to his advantage. Also, Justice is usually the dispenser of retribution, in whatever form it takes, and that can be a scary thing. (And yes, retribution can be just, and usually should be. It is not excessive - in other words, where Edmund is concerned, I don't confuse retribution and vengeance. Here's a quick definition of the former: Punishment that is considered to be morally right and fully deserved.) But, retribution can be scary, depending on the magnitude of the original offense.

And now I owe both you and Rth apologies, because you were asking her and not me, and it's her story and her headcanon after all. But consider me an interested participant in this particular question?

Oh, my goodness, I'm actually weeping for Jalur. Didn't expect this, on a day of Ginzburg, history and rhetoric!

So, yes, the last one really moved me. I also very much like Peter and Morgan; of course such an approchement would have to be initiated by Peter (Morgan simply couldn't), and I'm grateful his great soul gave her the formal, explicit appreciation she needs.

Excellent pieces, all beautifully written, funny, entertaining, and of course the last one, heartbreaking. Prince Edmund is nicely presented here as an engaging young boy, growing up with a solid supportive network of loving relatives; it helps to know this, as it does to know that Jalur didn't die until Edmund was old enough to have profited from his protection and affection.

It was inevitable that the day would come when Jalur and Merle would meet beyond the Sea of Lilies. And on that day, though Jalur will not meet Merle's eyes, it will be because that is a Tiger's way, not because Jalur has anything to be ashamed of. There is joy in such aeeting taking place, and I thank you for sharing the first part of that day woth us.

Oh. Oh my. Oh, bushels and beeswax. That was absolutely not what I was expecting, but so much better for it. This is beautiful, Ruth. I loved your addendum about the Cub, the Prince - and, perhaps, "just Edmund." It is clear that he is a mix of his parents, with Morgan's bluntness and Edmund's insight, and a strong sense of fairness from both.

And as for Jalur himself, that dear Tiger... you captured the potent mix of sadness and peace of death from old age. Having recently lost my grandfather (who was, at times, equal parts crotchety and sweet, much like a certain Guard), I can tell you it did my heart good to read this tender story. And I absolutely lost it when Jalur's tail waved again. Not everyone thinks to tell that part of the story, and it can be hard to remember. Thank you for reminding me.

I nearly forgot, so focused was I on Jalur and Edmund (the Younger)... I've been meaning to mention that the same day I read your Fic Exchange regarding Katyn, I read an article about some files that just came to light proving the U.S. helped cover up Soviet guilt in the massacre. I don't suppose you could have possibly planned that, but I'm still suspicious...

Also, I wonder if you might have any use for Joan Pujol Garcia, a fascinating Spaniard and one of the few (if not only) to receive decorations from both the Allies and the Germans. An Allied double agent posing as a German agent, he invented a network of nonexistent spies and helped deceive the Germans regarding the location of the Allied landing. (I believe a recent movie, "Garbo the Spy", tells his story, though I haven't seen it.) I don't know if it's useful, but inventing fictional agents to deliver falsified information to the Germans sounds, to me at least, very much like something Rat would enjoy.